If my face were on a milk carton, who might say they know me?
Family Trees were hell, but I got Bruce Lee for a dad.
Almond-shaped eyes and yellow skin don’t flow with a white name.

Heritage was anime and soy sauce, my attempt to grasp childhood.
Khakis and button downs smother a kimono;
good thing I knew my third cousin was Jackie Chan.

Exemplary English scores, mediocre math were my sentence,
the honorable ACT presiding. All rise for the boy with no history.
Science might prove otherwise but until then. . .

Orphans don’t have happy beginnings
the birds and the bees sit better with both parties in a normal family.
Paper can’t lie, but parents sure can.

Fantasy-cursed for eighteen years
until Truth finally came, the coward.

All rise for the boy with no history.
All rise for the ******* son.